Author
Topic: White Death (Read 242 times)

His pelt had darkened with the foul smell of death, His throat seeped with blood that melted and steamed through the snow. His eyes blurred with confusion and his mind blank. Yet he was breathing, with a bolt of adrenaline in his veins. It was an unshakable feeling, an aggressive arura charged his heart. And yet the feeling in his limbs had seemed paralyzed, though he knew he could move.

A hoof was lightly pressed into the slow in front of his eyes. A black angel towered over him. A tune gently caressed his ears, he worried, as her patterned hoof stomped against the floor. The snow beneath her rising. He stared at the strange patterns, a recognizable trait.

“she is the black mistress, lord of: death and fortune” a disembodied voice echoed through the air.

His eyes clouded with dismay, the energy that had built up had now pushed him to stand.“Leave me, you Banshee, I will not die Today!” his voice was gravelly and fierce. His legs tremble below him, weakness was pulling at his nerves, but he prevailed standing tall. The Mistress stood stagnant, gazing upon him, her eyes flickering around the war zone. Where the dead warriors of the white fire pack laid. She looked back to him.

“You are the last.” her modulated voice, surprised him.

He looked about in disbelief. “No..” his voiced cracked against the wind, a withering feeling twisted in his stomach. The Black queen nodded an orotund voice erupting from her throat. Her song was mesmerizingly beautiful.

The snow around her disperse and ever flake falling from the sky formed an elder. They sat gracefully beside her, Concomitant to their mistress.

“No, please! don’t leave me alone!” His voice was brittle, he waited for a response “I am cursed! This black coat! I brought us to ruin- I cannot save our legacy!!” his ringing cries, of self-loathing, echoed through the dying branches of his home. The elders only watched, and shook their heads. Looking to the queen as she sung peacefully, stirring up the patterns of the falling snow. A trenchant thought came to mind,“Mistress, what of my brother?!” She looked to him, with no word came from her, only the blessing of her mysterious voice, as she closed her serpentine eyes. The bodies of the elder spirits and this mistress erupted into the snowflakes that had stained, the wolves black pelt, spreading over his body. And presenting his true colors of white.

“You are the Last” the voice repeated softly against the air.

Lament For Thorin- Eurielle

(mini story)

Logged

"The hunt will never die" The strange, elderly wolf spoke his words. Then he had erupted into glowing particles of the mysterious atmosphere and became the stars to guide the young one through the frosty, Death of her fathers betrayal.